Fragments of Fate
by SilverStarShine94
Summary: He was so different from the desperate, broken man she used to know. SBHG TimeTravel. HIATUS
1. Of Mistakes and Meetings

**Fragments of Fate.**

Summary: He was so different from the desperate, broken man she used to know. SBHG TimeTravel.

* * *

_oOo_

_The Lily she knew was in Harry's eyes._

_oOo_

"I suppose you expected me."

Peering down at her through impossibly thick glasses Trelawney barely managed to conceal her surprise. She hastily pushed her gem studded flask into the recesses of her pocket and slid over to the now open trap-door. The glaring early morning sun cut straight through the heady darkness of the previously silent room. The door was slammed shut moments later as a young woman lifted herself up and placed her leather satchel on the floor.

The room had not changed since she last visited aside from the fact that thick, unmistakable smell of alcohol now mingled with the heady, overpowering scent of lavender and roses. Trelawney took a seat on one of the overstuffed chintz armchairs, sitting as though her bones had suddenly melted to nothing - as though she had lost the will for independent movement. For a moment all was quiet save for the faint clanking of many bangles knocking against each other as the slightly startled Professor delicately re-arranged her glittering shawls around her bony shoulders.

"Of course, my dear. I Saw you coming through the trap-door, though I admit I was surprised by the vision."

A barely concealed snort of irritation. Professor Trelawney did little to hide her own expression of animosity as she reached out for one of the delicate, pink patterned china cups that sat arranged in a perfect circle on the low table in front to her. A strong smell of alcohol rolled off the amber liquid within it in waves. Her young visitor curled her lip as she watched; it quickly became clear that she had not lost that maddeningly superior aura.

"Certainly. Though, I can presume that you already know why I am here?" There was a faint hint of mocking in her visitor's voice.

Knocking back the rest of the "tea" she did her best to put on her usual, misty voice. Folding her hands together the young woman before her remained standing and she no inclination to offer her a seat. Hermione Granger never was a student she was fond of. Her soul was too withered and her eyes too unyielding to ever be of use in the most difficult of all the magical arts.

"The Mystic Realms did indeed gift me with that knowledge."

Hermione took a seat without being offered one and folded her noticeably longer legs before slapping a small, tarnished silver locket on the table with more force than was absolutely necessary. The teacup rattled faintly, causing the older woman to wince, and the entire table shuddered a little. Even in the suffocating dimness of the circular room it could be seen that Miss Granger had changed greatly. Her thick hair was more tamed now and her teeth no longer seemed quite so large and protruding.

That was probably for the best - she had been a slightly unfortunate looking child.

Reaching out with one thin hand Trelawney wrapped her long willowy fingers around the small, almost alarmingly warm, object. Three lines were slashed across its surface - perfect, parallel lines that could not have been done with anything other than magic. It fell open in her palm, revealing an interior that could only be described as similar to a pensive. The liquid inside of it floated beneath a layer of glass - ever swirling and billowing in a myriad of foggy shapes.

Pressing her lips in a thin line the Divination Professor looked up at her unwelcome ex-student. Hermione was, in turn, looking at her with an irritated expression; as though she did not want to be there. For a moment she was tempted to refuse the question she was about to be asked outright, but the chance to use such an object again would never come up.

"I would like you to find someone for me." That much was obvious to anyone who had the slightest knowledge of the instrument.

Her narrowed brown eyes conveyed what she did not say; _if you can that is. _The barely concealed disdain was what convinced her to accept. There would be nothing better than rubbing success in the face of this particular child.

"I will do my best. If the Realms allow me to See. Then I shall See."

Looking back down into the foggy depths showed nothing out of the ordinary. There were many rules for using these ancient objects and they had to be adhered to. The name of the person could not be spoken, or written, the Seeker had to be Gifted, only souls amongst the living could be Sought and countless other Laws lost in the passage of time. These lockets were also considered to be lost... It was strange, that this child should come upon one when her Inner Eye was so blinded by her precious logic.

Reaching out she, albeit unwillingly, clasped the girl's supple, warm fingers in her own cold, thin ones. They sat there for a moment. Both of them staring down at the tiny object between them willing it to show what was Sought. The fog swirled calmly as ever, undisturbed. The passage of time was forgotten as they both became mesmerised by the hypnotic chalky swirls.

Nothing.

"I should have guessed."

She snatched the object up from the battered table, stained with many rings from hot cups of scalding tea being placed carelessly on the surface. Ever an impatient child. The Realms could not be broken or commanded so easily. Brushing back a wispy tendril of greying hair she simply swigged straight from the silver flask that usually remained concealed within her many pockets.

"We were not meant to See who you Sought, my dear."

With one last irritated huff Hermione Granger gathered up her satchel and stormed out of the claustrophobic room, exactly as she had done around three years previously. Trelawney watched the departure sourly and poured herself yet another cup-full as soon as the door was slammed shut. It was a shame the girl took the locket with her. It would have been an invaluable resource. But, then again, they were said to be cursed...

Pressing her thin lips into a line she barely concealed her amusement. That girl wouldn't know a bad omen if it smacked her in the face. Such a shame that pupils like her still found their way up here - into her sanctuary. No matter. She was not meant to See.

Vaguely though, she wondered who the girl had been so desperate to find. Her features showed a moment of unguarded, fierce longing when she looked down upon the tiny object. A lover, perhaps? Laughing slightly at her own suggestion she abruptly teetered out of her seat across to the opposite end of the room. Homework needed to be marked and it was unlikely that she would ever meet little Miss Granger again.

For once her - involuntary - prediction was actually true.

oOo

"Who are you?"

The question echoed through her ringing ears and she looked up to see vague, liquid eyes and wispy blond hair.

_Who am I?_

"She's not answering Xeno, should we call Madame Pomfrey?"

Suddenly, she was aware of the most horrific burning sensation at her chest. Something tightened around her throat cutting off her air supply. Thick blond curls appeared in her line of vision as wiry arms slid beneath the joint of her knees and behind her back. Perplexed silver-blue eyes looked down at her with some hint of worry. They didn't seem to realise she was choking.

It didn't take long before everything went black.

oOo

Snapping the book shut she looked down at the silver locket with a twinge of irritation. Her usual methodical methods of study and research had failed, every other method she had tried had failed. It wouldn't work. It _couldn't _work. The Fate locket sat on the table atop a pile of books, glimmering faintly in the firelight, quietly mocking her ineptitude. For hours the only sound had been the soft, crackling of the fire, but the near silence was broken by the insistent 'thud' of footsteps.

"Bloody hell, Hermione. You still up?" The question ended in a yawn as a tall red head stumbled down into the dormitory.

The one person she hadn't wanted to see.

All she could focus on was his pale, exposed chest - peppered with freckles - and the large part of his calves exposed by too short pyjama bottoms. Turning away she blocked the view of too much skin, and too short pyjamas with a curtain of bushy hair. Unbidden, a faint blush rose to her pale cheeks. She heard her voice crack when she told him to go back to bed and go to sleep.

He slumped into the cushy chair beside her with a soft thump and awkwardly folded his long legs beneath the table. His eyes refused to meet hers and he looked slightly uncomfortable. She turned back to her book. Saying anything more would be inviting him to start a conversation with her which was something she didn't want to encourage... Their relationship had been emotionally charged lately and she simply didn't have the energy to fight with him anymore.

"He's not... You know, Hermione. He's dead. This won't help anything..." said Ron, trailing off with an irritated tone.

Pausing while she turned a page she sent him a small glare - a look which told him not to continue. For a moment he stopped and swallowed heavily. There was a faint redness building in his cheeks, obscuring his freckles. Somehow she knew that she wouldn't like what he was about to say. Bitter, angry, tired tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she watched him.

"Harry's my mate, you know. I want him to be happy just as much as you do!" His voice rose slightly and he continued.

"Obsessed with the bloody thing," he muttered gesturing to the tarnished metal, "He won't be able to get over Sirius if you keep dragging this up..."

Unable to contain her bubbling anger, and the residual irritation she had already been feeling, Hermione slammed the book shut with more force than necessary and made to stand. His hand curled around her wrist and pulled her down towards him. Ron's ears had turned red like they always did when he was angry. Frustration made her impatient and the lack of sleep made her angry.

"_He could still be alive behind that Veil. _You know that Ron, Harry knows that! Dumbledore said so and we have to find out. He can't be left there if he's alive!"

"They've tried everything. And do you know what, Hermione? I think you _fancied _him. That's what I bloody well think!"

She breathed in quickly when he spoke and stared down him with something akin to amazement. Of course he would think that. _Of course he would think that. _This was Ron Weasley; so possessive of her and Harry that it was almost painful. She couldn't look at another male without him practically leaping at her. A single heated tear followed down her cheek, followed by another.

It was times like this she hated him.

"I want to find him because no one deserves to spend eternity hovering between life and death. Besides, didn't you know I liked Cormac?"

His mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. His entire face and neck had gone scarlet. That would shut him up. Unable to resist twisting the knife she put on that dreamy expression that was so often painted across Lavender's features and looked away from Ron, who may as well have had steam pouring from his ears. He let go of her hand and pushed the chair backwards with such force that it toppled over onto the floor.

Wincing, she dearly hoped that the bang hadn't woken anyone up. He looked down at her, mouth working furiously for a moment, before storming off up to the boys' dorm with a trail of curses left in his wake. Hermione slid a cold hand up her forehead and tried to focus her eyes on the tiny text which seemed jumbled and swam across the page. That was what she had wanted; to make him angry, jealous.

He had been angry when he found out that she went to Slughorn's party with Cormac. Even angrier when he found them in the dark corridors, together, afterwards. Lavender had been quick to see the animosity between them and practically languished in it. Hermione could not see any real connection between the two of them save the very physical one that involved his mouth on hers.

It was like watching some kind of car-crash; horrifying, but she still seemed unable to tear her eyes from them.

Her head slumped forward onto the cool, re-assuring familiar pages of the book. The comforting smell of ink and aged paper filtered up into her mind and calmed her thoughts. Instinctively her fingers clasped around locket - warm and smooth and ancient - as she lay there. Tears filtered out of her closed eyes and rolled down her cheeks in hot, scalding, stinging waves.

She wanted to find Sirius. She _needed_ to find Sirius. For Harry.

If this stupid thing would just show her him she would know he was alive somewhere. If it showed her blackness she would know that he was truly dead. Instead it showed her foggy nothingness that swirled and ebbed without revealing anything. Trelawney had muttered something about the Realms and Dimensions not being able to be controlled, but she said nothing of Time.

There was this dial at the very top of the locket, just below the loop the chain fed through. Her sweat-slick fingers clamped around the dial - which she had previously ignored - and she tried to turn it. It was almost like the tiny dial on the side of a wristwatch.

_I need to see Sirius Black._

Her vision blurred a little then, but Hermione thought nothing of it and continued to fiddle with the tiny piece of silver. It was so hard to get a grip on... If she could just... Her vision swam alarmingly then, just as the dial began to move. Tiny flakes of rust fell when it finally made a full turn. Suppose this worked like a Time Turner. She had no idea what this turning was doing - if anything.

Maybe it would do nothing. Turning it for a third time she concentrated hard on Sirius's face. Maybe, if the mist behind the glass would finally clear and she would be able to find out whether he was still here in some form. Fifth turn. Sixth.

Perhaps she should open the locket. Her finger flicked the catch and it fell open. Still fog inside. Her fingers slipped on the dial when she turned it a final, seventh, time. Everything around her swirled with the strange, foreign fog that normally stayed beneath the glass panel. She couldn't bring herself to panic now that it had finally, _finally_, done something.

_Sirius Black. _

_I need to see Sirius Black._

The world around her shook.

oOo

A sharp intake of breath from above her. The same hard eyes she knew well from the several times she had stayed in the hospital wing. There were no lines of worry, laughter or age around her eyes and that was disconcerting. Trying to take a deep breath proved to be painful - it felt as though there were white hot iron bands contracting around her throat. Madame Pomfrey made a soft "tut" "tut" sound above her before drawing away.

Concentrating on taking as deep a breath as she could manage Hermione looked at the pale green tiles that decorated part of the wall across from her - paler than she remembered and devoid of a few cracks. A small warm hand slid behind her back and pushed her up into sitting position, propped against the hard, cotton pillows. Breath puffed from her mouth with an unhealthy wheezing sound.

"Madame -" Her weak voice was cut off by a spoon of unpleasant tasting medicine being forced down her throat.

It cooled her aching muscles before burning and forcing her to cough again. Her chest ached from the exertion of coughing and her ribs jolted with pain as they moved out and up in order to give her lungs enough room to fill with air. The Fate locket hung scalding at her neck - so heated that it stuck to her pained flesh with every movement. Hermione knew she had not put it on that night in the dormitory, but the question of how it came to hang around her neck was not the most pressing matter.

"We'll get it off, don't worry. Dumbledore has gone to fetch something which will help," she said as she pushed another spoonful of the vile liquid into her mouth.

The Hogwarts Matron was much thinner than she remembered her ever being and she looked ridiculously young. Thirty or forty years younger than the Madame Pomfrey of her time - no lines on her skin, not a greying her on her head. In fact, she looked as though she had only just qualified for the job. It was her own fault, this mess, she should not have handled such an old and unstable magical artefact in the callous way she had.

But thirty or forty years? A Time Turner could fix that given the proper tweaking. The Ministry themselves had a small set of reverse Time Turners. It would not be too difficult to get a hold of one. Madame Pomfrey bustled off without another word leaving Hermione there, staring after the swishing skirts of the matron. Beside her someone coughed loudly jolting her.

_You must not be seen._

Her heart jumped in her chest as she looked down at herself. So many people could have, would have seen her. How much would she have altered history? Struggling with the cotton sheets that clung to her like a second skin she attempted to leap up - to get away from Hogwarts, away from anyone who could see her. Her body refused to respond; giving little more than a few feeble jerks before she settled back on the pillows, chest heaving.

She felt disgusted with herself for being so reckless.

"What are you in for?" said a quiet voice from her right.

Her head snapped round with such a force she was sure to have a crick in her neck. For once in her life Hermione Granger was shocked speechless. The person who had addressed her ran a bandaged hand over his forehead, pushing sweat dampened hair (the colour of treacle, though she had no idea where that thought came from) back away from where it dangled over his eyes.

He looked as though he had been beaten repeatedly by a large, club wielding Troll.

She coughed weakly - and hated herself for sounding so pathetic - before answering, "Cursed locket."

"Back-fired spell."

There were several jagged red lines running across his exposed skin that looked deep and painful. Cursed wounds, according to a book she had once read, took around twice as long as normal wounds to heal, but certain potions could speed it up. His expression did not change when he lied to her; she supposed he was used to lying about this. Her attempt at smiling at him turned out to be more of a grimace. He smiled weakly back at her over the massive tome propped up in his lap.

"From friends?" She gestured at the three garish, pink, sparkling cards with an assortment of ballerinas, princesses and fairies prancing around the front of them.

He cleared his throat looking abashed, "Yeah, their idea of a joke."

One of the fairies - a voluptuous red head with rosy cheeks - blew a kiss in her direction while the rest of them giggled shrilly in the background.

"I can imagine."

Something like a grin flickered on his features, but it was quickly masked by an expression of pain. He wasn't as used to hiding the pain he felt as the Remus Lupin she had known, but he was still just a boy. The same age as her, she quickly reminded herself. Wishing he was asleep didn't quell the curiosity that bubbled up as she looked across at the teenage version of her old Defence against the Dark Arts professor. Merlin knows how much she had already messed up the time line.

"I'm Remus."

A stab of fear jolted to the very pit of her stomach and her heart throbbed painfully in her chest. Make up a name? Don't answer? A muggle name would do; something common and forgettable. She was saved answering when Madame Pomfrey swept briskly into the room, at her heels was Albus Dumbledore. Remus nodded to them before averting his eyes to the pages before him. Even in her head she struggled to call the young marauder by his given name.

The Albus Dumbledore that drew to a halt in front of her still had blazing streaks of auburn running through his silver beard and hair. He peered down at her with familiar piercing ice-blue eyes behind half moon spectacles. His voice was the same calm, devastatingly polite one she remembered.

"I would like you to come up and visit my office the moment you are well enough to leave here," he said coolly, watching her struggle back up onto her elbows.

"Albus, the locket, I've tried everything -" Dumbledore cut off the young matron with a simple movement of his hand before turning to address Remus.

"I believe young Mr Potter and Mr Black are just coming up to greet you?" he smiled serenely, as though at his own private joke, "I'm sure either of them will be able to assist this young lady in removing it."

He didn't wait for an answer before sweeping out of the room leaving a flustered looking matron in his wake. She looked as though she dearly wished to call him back and say something, but instead she turned on her heel and strode into her office leaving Hermione and Remus alone again. Lying seemed like the best option, but if he didn't ask again she simply wouldn't bring it up.

The silence was heavy and awkward for a few moments until the sound of footsteps and slightly raised voices reached them. Hermione's fingers curled around the sheets with a white knuckled grip. She had not wanted to see any more people, let alone James Potter and Sirius Black. If Sirius, or Remus, were to remember her... There was no end to the trouble it would cause. She had no idea how much damage she had already caused.

At the other end of the infirmary the swinging double doors burst open and a pair of boys dressed in mud splattered Quidditch robes tramped in leaving trails of mud behind them on the scrubbed marble floor. Madame Pomfrey shrieked, "Quiet", from her office when their voices lifted to an ear splitting clamour. They too had bruises and small cuts adorning their skin - apparently it had been a pretty rough Full Moon for them all.

It was almost painful to watch them smiling, laughing, when she knew the ways both of them would die. How one of them suffered. Remus managed a lopsided grin for them when they dropped heavily onto the ends of his bed. She had seen a picture like this; ochre tinted and dog-eared with the three of them laughing on some sunny day out in the grounds - Wormtail must have been the one to take the picture.

The greetings ended abruptly when Remus pointedly turned his eyes to where she lay - wheezing and unable to escape the three pairs of eyes which focused on her prone form. Grey, hazel and brown. The tiny females on the cards shrieked indignantly for attention behind the three of them. She smiled and looked down at the tiled floor in a way she hoped they would think was shy. The truth was she was unable to look at the man - boy - she had so desperately sought, or the man who looked so much like one of her dearest friends.

"Prongs, Padfoot, Dumbledore said you would be able to get the locket around her neck off. Go have a look, will you."

"No probs, mate. Lift your head up, love, can't get to the thing if you keep looking at the floor."

She had heard things - from people and Sirius himself - about his escapades with the opposite sex when he was younger. He had been a relatively attractive man when she knew him - after he moved into Grimmauld Place and began eating regular meals. Angular, chiselled features that were tempered with age and a sleek, lithe body. She had noticed, even had something of a crush on him for a time, but his muscles were still wasted from years of disuse, his skin never quite lost that deathly pallor and his eyes - they were the worst part - always held that flicker of madness, of soullessness.

This Sirius was different - in his prime with striking looks and an irritatingly cocky attitude to match. She understood how so many females had fallen for him in the past. His fingers were slightly rough as they brushed her collarbone, picking up the scalding metal that didn't seem to burn him. James Potter leaned over, scrutinising the battered metal. Sirius made a strange hissing sound through his teeth as he picked the clasp and wrenched the thing off her, leaving a ring of angry burn marks around her neck an oval scald where the locket had lain against her flesh.

"It could sense your blood, love." He frowned - as though he hated what he had just said - and glared at the Fate locket before setting it down on the bedside table.

It was open; beneath the glass panels there was no mist, only blackness. She choked at the implications. If one panel - the Seeking panel - went black, then the person Sought was dead. The Life panel never changed from the swirling mist, except when the locket itself was broken beyond repair. No problem, she thought to herself, a Time Turner was all she needed.

"Thank you."

Sirius slouched back onto Remus's bed, probably onto the other boy's legs, while James just grinned and ran a hand through his already tousled hair. She had already spent too much time here and she needed to see Dumbledore. Now. Swinging her feet around she hopped out of the bed. The muscles in her legs quivered in an ominous fashion as she slid her feet into her shoes and began to make her way towards the door.

She couldn't have been in the Hospital Wing long as she was still clothed in her crumped school shirt and skirt. Hermione almost regretted the abrupt departure she was making. After all, she would never speak to Sirius again, and would never have the chance to see them as they were in their happiest days. The thought of how that was shattered was bitter. If she saw Pettigrew she would be sure to hex him until he was crawling, dumb and sprouting all manner of unpleasant things.

Without being seen of course.

Behind her voices yelled indignantly; "Oi! What's your name?" and "Hold on a minute!"

Her steps were quick and faltering as she stumbled behind a tapestry, out of view of a group of Ravenclaw second years that had just stomped around the corner. Dumbledore's office was just a floor above here and thank Merlin for that. Her entire body was wracked with tremors and it was only sheer force of will that kept her shaking muscles moving. Pain flared up every time her clothes brushed the burns around her neck.

A stab of guilt and fear mingled with irritation when she realised she had left the locket lying in the Hospital Wing - she would have to see them again.

Their faces lingered in the forefront of her mind as she rapped on the gargoyle with her knuckles, unaware of the fact as a supposed stranger she should not have known the way to Dumbledore's office on her own.

* * *

Damn, I'm tired. I've recently got very into this pairing and wanted to write something for it - so I did.

Little note on the locket - the three lines on the front of it are representative of the three Moirae (The Fates, hence the Fate Locket) of Greek Mythology. They controlled the metaphorical thread of life of every mortal from birth to death (and beyond). Not that it matters - the locket is just another device to get Hermione back to the time we want her in. ;D Oh, and one more thing - the locket does not work exactly like a Time Turner, but I'll develop that point later.

Hope you enjoyed it!

Silver xxx.


	2. Of Sorting and Snivellus

**Fragments of Fate.**

* * *

_oOo_

_The Mauraders of her time were ink names on a paper map._

_oOo_

"Sit down, please," he gestured with a single hand to one of the large chairs covered in purple velvet that sat in front of his desk.

She nodded, feeling light-headed but trying not to show it. Swallowing, she folded her legs neatly and tucked them to the side before placing her clasped hands onto her lap. The silence was thick and broken only by the smooth humming and whirring sounds of the many delicate instruments that littered the room. Hermione felt very glad of the enormous, gleaming desk that stood between them; it represented something familiar and comfortable - the roles of student and teacher.

"Asking your name would be the most sensible question. You have no need to lie, it will not affect the Time Line."

If it had been anyone other than Dumbledore she would have argued. She would have pulled up numerous quotes and Case Studies from the many books she had read on the subject just after Professor McGonagal had given her the Time Turner. But this was Albus Dumbledore and she trusted his knowledge. Brushing back her bushy hair was a cold, clammy hand she answered in a calm voice that did not reflect what she was feeling.

"Hermione Granger."

"Well, Miss Granger... You are a muggleborn, I presume?"

She nodded once, irritation beginning to surface as it always did when she did not have control, or full understanding, of a situation. Beside her the tiniest machine began to give off puffs of violently violet-purple smoke - it was an irrelevant thing which drew her attention for a moment. Across from her, Dumbledore was silent. She did not remember a time when he had looked quite so frigid, unapproachable. Perhaps she was just imagining the look of cold, clinical observation in his normally warm eyes.

After all, it was Harry who had the most dealings with the Hogwarts headmaster. To her on a personal level, he meant almost nothing. An authority figure, a role model, but nothing else. Her throat burned constantly, reminding her of her own foolishness. Dumbledore looked almost upset - that was disconcerting. Though, she never was good at reading people.

"And, tell me, do you have an adequate grip of the French language?" Dumbledore looked down at her coolly; eyes sombre. The silence between them was broken, but the thick atmosphere remained.

"Yes, but..." a wave of his hand cut her off for a moment, "I do not understand the relevance of these questions - "

"Miss Granger."

"- all I need is a Time Turner and I can leave."

"I truly wish it were that simple, Miss Granger."

In her time he would have called her by her given name, her first name.

oOo

The Sorting Hat was much smaller than she ever remembered it being. The thick, musty material hung just at the top of her eye line, not at all obscuring the view of the many curious eyes fixed on her form. The stool she sat on was also uncomfortably small. No row of tiny first years stood behind her holding their breath in anticipation. She had to be in Gryffindor - it would just be too strange to go in another house.

Dumbledore had been instistant that she do this in front of the whole school. It was well into term now - she didn't remember there ever being a Sorting during term.

Surely she should not be nervous? Her heart pounded violently, as though it was too large to fit in her chest and was struggling to break free of the constraint of her rib-cage. Clammy hands clamped her thighs as she waited for it to speak - she was sure it just stalled for effect, after all, this was the only time of year it was out of the Headmaster's Office.

_"An excellent mind, loyalty... A good deal of courage. Ravenclaw would suit you, Hufflepuff too. Gryffindor seems best though, yes."_

The exact thing the Hat had said to her in her First Year; probably just had the same rehearsed lines it used for certain types of people. She remembered it as though it was yesterday, but the fierce feeling of belonging she had felt at the time was absent now as she looked upon the faces of a generation that wasn't hers. No Harry and Ron waited at the benches to welcome her. There was no Golden Trio, but she was still Hermione Granger. She could fix this.

"Gryffindor!!!"

If it was possible to faint from sheer joy - she thought as she rose from the tiny stool and slid down to the cheering Gryffindor table - she would surely be slumped on the floor at this very moment. Stumbling off the stool she half fell down the stairs to cram herself between Remus and Wormtail. They had been insistent, she had been yielding - for once. Across the room she glimpsed Lucine and Xenophilius waving at her. Well, the former gave a smooth airy wave and the latter gave some kind of complicated hand gesture in her direction.

They had come to visit her in the Hospital Wing when she had been half dragged back in by Madame Pomprey and she had learned that they were the ones to find her and take her to the Hogwarts healer. By all accounts they had saved her life. Lucine Lacy was the image of Luna Lovegood without the dangling radish earrings and butterbeer cork necklaces. Her mother.

Xenophilius brought her some foul smelling purple flowers that managed to get acid green pollen all over her pillows and proceeded to sing in a deep throaty voice when a wasp (a striped Hornbee, according to him) found its way inside. For once she couldn't bring herself to retaliate with her usual sharp tongue. She half smiled at Lucine who gave a dreamy smile back - a secretive exchange that told her Lucine found it just as ridiculous as she did.

She didn't want to look at the boys so desperately trying to catch her eye. Looking at them really made it hit home just how much she had messed up.

"_So," _Sirius pushed back his long, black hair with a single hand only to have it flop back into his eyes, " you're from Beauxbatons..."

He cleared his throat. She hated the fact that he always seemed to need to be in the centre of attention.

"French chicks have always been a weakness of mine."

The look she gave him told him that she would hex off something very unique to the male anatomy if he continued. Beside her, Remus stifled a laugh. Having no choice but to speak to them she reluctantly allowed them to pull her into a conversation. Everything was wrong with this, she thought as Sirius made another lewd joke at her expense. She didn't even flinch; the older Sirius she had known had much more of an effect on her than this half-grown one.

Though she would never admit that to anyone, not even under the influence of Vertiaserum.

"I'm not French, anyway," she said crisply, sipping at the pumpkin juice in her goblet and trying to ignore the waves of nostalgia that came with it, " I just lived there for a while."

"Then I came here."

She shifted away from Wormtail (never Peter, he didn't deserve that kind of recognition) who had moved slightly closer to her. She was sure it was by accident, but her skin crawled at the mere thought of touching the traitor. In her minds' eye she saw him years later - balding, fat, filthy, repulsive and begging at her feet.

_Sweet girl, clever girl..._

Though it was not in her nature to be cold and unforgiving she could not repress the urge to move. She promised herself she would try to treat him as though she didn't know he was a traitor - who gave one of his best friends, his wife and child to Voldemort to save his own skin - and would be civil. At the very least the others would notice her treating him differently and they would start to ask questions.

Hermione didn't want them questioning her for any reason. She couldn't afford to let something slip, no matter what Dumbledore had said about her not affecting the Time Line.

"Is your neck feeling better, Hermione," asked Remus, quietly.

After much prompting she had finally given her real name. He had snuck up on her at the time, just after she had been allowed to leave the Hospital Wing so that she could be Sorted, and she had called him Professor before she could catch herself. He shrugged it off and asked after her health. The wounds on his face had developed thick scabs. When he spoke the one that ran just beside his mouth cracked and began to bleed.

She didn't notice how startled he was when she absently wiped off the blood with the corner of a tissue and muttered a quick _"Episky". _The scab sealed itself, but the wound did not disapper. Hermione did not expect it to. When he lead her to the Great Hall she had to remind herself that she shouldn't know where it was.

"Yes, thank you," she lied, fingering the bandages that wrapped around her neck and the upper half of her torso.

The conversation ended as quickly as it had began and she looked down at her steak and kidney pie (Harry's favourite) with no hunger whatsoever. Beside her the boys were shovelling food into their mouths - though none of them were as bad as Ron, admittedly. Her eyes flickered up and down the table as she crushed the pastry beneath her fork to make it seem like she had eaten something.

She half expected to hear the shrill voice of little Colin Creevy, or Seamus bellowing about the latest Quidditch matches. Instead she heard James talking - bragging - loudly about the new Cleansweep he had gotten. She was sure the almost absurd volume of his voice was mainly for the benefit of the pretty red-head she had just noticed. Lily Potter (Evans, if she ever referred to her as Lily _Potter_ this James might die of sheer joy).

The rest of them seemed relatively uninterested in listening - it seemed like James had been through this more than a dozen times. Siruis was much more different than she thought he might be; no tattoos peeked out between the several undone buttons of his shirt, his face still had something of boyish roundness about the cheeks and chin and the stubble he was growing looked faintly ridiculous. She remembered how good he looked with his perfectly grown goatee and completely matured features (even if the man with the features was anything but matured).

This Sirius, with his half grown stubble that made her fingers itch for a wand to trim it off, oozed the charm that Azkaban had taken from the Sirius she had known. Grey eyes - with lashes thicker than she would ever have - were still bright and warm and filled with laughter. For a moment she wished she could have seen him this happy when he was grown. Hermione had seen him smile and laugh once or twice, but there was always something missing.

His smiles for Harry didn't reach his eyes - none of them did - but when he looked at the boy-who-lived she saw a wistful expression. Azkaban and fate had taken too much from him. He woud never be the same as he was here.

"You're staring, love," he grinned.

Stretching back with the languid grace of a feline (which was ridiculous considering the fact that his animagus form was a dog) he leaned his head on his hands. Arrogance radiated from him in cloying waves and she felt her mouth curl slightly at the edges. He was just a boy - a silly, little boy. She had spent enough time around men to recognise the difference. Harry and Ron too sported this absurd belief that they were grown up and adults.

"I was just thinking about how much I'd like you to have a shave."

"She's got you there, Padfoot, mate," James grinned, his monologue about Cleansweeps finally over.

"This?" he rubbed his chin with one slim, tanned hand.

"It's sexy," he winked at a few staring Ravenclaw girls to illustrate the point.

"Of course, the half sheered sheep look is irrestistable."

His face twisted for a moment as the other three howled with laughter. She smiled as though to ease the blow to his ego. Though he really could use deflating it by the looks of things. In front of them the golden plates melted away and platters of desserts appeared. Hermione slid a piece of apple pie onto her plate with no desire to eat it. She enjoyed her food as much as the next person, but at that particular moment the smell was faintly nauseating.

Wormtail reached over to lift a plate of something and abruptly she was pressed against him. He smelled faintly of peppermint and some musty aftershave he probably thought was cool. Perhaps on anyone else it might have been. Hermione wiped the disgust from her face and stared down at the plate of warm, cream covered dessert that made her feel sick. She had only left the Hospital Wing this afternoon and a fever had broken out again.

Muttering healing spells under her breath she tried to contribute to the conversation. Every so often someone called down to her from the table. Asking how she liked Hogwarts, whether she missed Beauxbatons, what she thought of Britain...

She had always believed in honesty; the ease with which lies flowed from her mouth was frightening.

When the meal ended she stood and made to move towards the doors with practised ease. Sirius slid between her and the crowd and the rest of them moved around her.

"Where do you think you're going?"

He laughed easily, enjoying her perplexed expression and the adoring stares of the female populous.

"We'll show you the way to the Gryffindor Common Room."

He slid an arm beneath hers and pulled her close to his side in a practised move. There was no choking intimacy in this gesture, it was simply something he did often that had little meaning to him. It was, perhaps, the only thing she had seen of his higher class habits. Other than the way he held himself and the forced accent and the expensive cologne.

"You'll love it," James swirled around them grinning," it's wicked."

"Definitely," Wormtail shrieked, eager to be part of the conversation.

"I'm sure it's different from Beauxbatons, I hope you don't get too homesick," muttered Remus, considerate as ever.

When she stepped through the portrait hole (password; _butterbeer_) she felt more at home than she had since she foolishly threw herself backwards in time. Until Sirius stuck his face in front of hers and demanded her prescence in a game of exploding snap.

His carefree smile made her sick to the stomach when she saw Wormtail sporting a similar one beside him.

oOo

Lying, staring at the star covered velvet curtains she waited until the heavy sounds of her new roommates breathing indicated that they were asleep. Lavender snored, these girls (Violet, Lucy and Eve) were almost absurdly quiet. Absently, she wondered if Lav-Lav was cooing over Won-Won right now; comforting him over the sudden, mysterious disappearance of one of his oldest friends.

Envy welled up before she could stop it. She slid up and pushed tendrils of her hair back from where they stuck to her face. The floor was blissfully cold against her heated skin, but the boards creaked as she tip-toed towards the door - stopping only to pick up the broken, cloth wrapped Fate locket that sat on her bedside table. If she tried to touch it now it scalded her skin. There were several, new, angry red burn marks as testament to that fact on the tips of her fingers.

A rush of cool air made her shiver with delight as she moved down the icy stone steps into the deserted common room. Hermione hated to beg, and yet she was practically forced to grovel at Sirius's feet to get the locket back. She remembered a similar smug look on his face when she had pleaded with him to allow her access to his private bookcase in Grimmauld Place. His entire being practically lit up as she was forced to take back numerous insults she had thrown at him over the time she was there.

_And what was that comment about my level of maturity, Granger?_

This Sirius was no different. She actually thought she might just die of shame when he told her to say;

_The stubble is _so _sexy, Sirius._

Then he made her repeat it in a _French _accent of all things while he lounged in one of the armchairs with that special, holier-than-thou, expression she saw on Draco Malfoy's face every time he looked at her. Her teeth ground together at the mere memory. Just wait until she told Harry just how much of a git he was when he was younger. James even paused in his - painfully bad - flirting with Lily to come over and watch.

Her mind neatly pushed back the fact that Dumbledore had told her she could never go back, that her parents and family did not exist here, that her life prior to the turning of the locket was nothing but her memory and hers alone. For all her Gryffindor courage she could not face the possibility until she had cold hard facts and evidence to back it up.

When she stepped out into the corridor she felt bare, almost naked, without Harry and Ron on either side and the protective veil of the Invisibility Cloak over her head. The Fat Lady grumbled about being woken up behind her as she swung closed. Vaguely, Hermione wondered if Filch prowled these corridors still. Mrs Norris certainly wouldn't. Her feet, bare - shoes made too much noise, were already freezing from being pressed against the cold floor.

Her temperature had been fluctuating almost violently for the past few hours, but she remembered sudden flushes of hot and cold being a side-effect of Time Travel. Dizziness, nausea, memory loss and hysteria where also possible side-effects if a person travelled more than a few months back. Hermione still wondered why she wasn't reduced to a blubbering mass of female when she had travelled decades and decades back.

As she slowly descended the stairs the entire world seemed to tilt to one side briefly, and she knew she should have just stayed in bed and slept the symptoms off. At least she hadn't experienced memory loss, or hysteria.

The library had never seemed so far away. She actually breathed a sigh of relief when she crossed the familiar threshold to be greeted by the smell of old parchment and fresh ink. Her desperation for research had lead her here. It was useless trying to sleep when so many unanswered questions clamoured in her head, and it was a certainty that she wouldn't get a moment to herself during the daylight hours. Not when she was such a novelty - the new girl, the Beauxbatons girl.

For the first time ever, she veered towards the Divination section.

oOo

"You know you fancy her like mad, right?"

"Yeah, I saw the way you looked at her, not really my type y'know - especially with Evans about to crack any day - but she's pretty enough."

"And French."

"Shut it, Pads, you fancy any girl with a pulse."

"Defensive, are we? I saw you looking when she bent over to get that quill."

"Only because you were leering."

"Was not. And at least I wasn't dribbling, like Wormtail."

"No I wasn't!"

"_Sure_. Moony, you know she's your type; bookworm, anti-social... It's a match made in heaven."

"And my "furry little problem" doesn't get in the way at all."

"Christ, live a little, you stuffy git."

"You're the one who practically feels her up at every opportunity, anyway, Padfoot."

"Jealous?! Anyway, how can you -"

"D'you hear that..."

"Get the map out."

"Well, look here. Didn't pin her to be the type."

"Quiet, she's just coming round the corner."

oOo

And the first thing she noticed was the tell-tale swish of fabric moving across the smooth floor. That was right before the world veered alarmingly again and she ran head-first into a much taller, stockier person and went tumbling to the floor with her - quite frankly, im-modest - night gown gathering up in a way it really shouldn't have. Displaying every ounce of her Gryffindor courage she turned and ran for her life.

There hadn't appeared to have been anyone in that corridor, but the sound of fabric and footfalls were familiar. The invisibility cloak. After all the trouble of looking for Prefects, or Filch (who was much more of a danger than he was in her days, being younger and healthier), she had forgotten about the Maurders and their invisibility cloak. It was just natural, she assured herself, to forget when she had always been one of the ones beneath it.

The next morning, she was being lead towards her "first" Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson by Sirius - who had a large hand on the small of her back despite the fact she had told him to remove it several times. She freverntly wished that they wouldn't bring it up but -

"Never thought you'd be the type for _frilly, black, lace _underwear, Granger," he said, smirking.

She paused, mind half blacked out due to complete and utter mortification. She needed a longer nightgown. She needed a floor length, high collared night gown.

"Or sneaking out after hours," James interjected, completely disregarding her personal space to lean his head on her shoulder and whisper that.

Right now Hermione was sure that her face would be an unpleasant, unattractive shade of beetroot. She dearly wished that Remus would hurry forward and catch up with them and distract the two Mauraders looking at them with a strange light in their eyes.

It hadn't occured to her to try and make friends while she was here - for she was sure it would only be a few weeks at most - but at that moment she wished she was more socially adept. Then she would have been able to hurry over to some other female and start to talk until the circling sharks that were James and Sirius left her alone.

"How did you know I was out? I didn't see you," she answered, finally, deliberately side-stepping the previous statement.

"Ahh, but you wouldn't. High level spell, almost impossible. We're just that great."

A very un-lady like snort threatened to burst from her, but she managed to cover it with a laugh.

"I didn't know who I knocked into, it was one of you guys then," she said. A statement, not a question.

"And, what were you doing out so late, Miss Granger?" Sirius's voice took on the tone of her much admired teacher, Professor McGonagall, but she should not have known that, she reminded herself.

"At the library -"

She stopped suddenly as a jet of blue light almost struck one of them, hissing, black against the once white floor. Drawing her wand she fired rapidly - _stupefy, expelliaramus _- out of habit more than anything else. The night at the Ministry of Magic had not faded from her mind (and probably never would). She stopped firing, abruptly, when her own wand was struck from her hand and the two boys behind her surged forward.

"Why, Snivelly, that's no way to greet the new girl."

"I wasn't aiming for the Beauxbatons witch, Potter."

"_Augamenti!!"_

A frighteningly young version of the Hogwarts Potions Master stood, dripping from head to toe before her. Out of sheer habit she looked straight at his shoes waiting for his soft, sneering voice to point out some tiny flaw in her work. No scathing remark came, he watched her critically from between two curtains of soaking wet hair. His eyes - warmer than she ever remembered them being flickered between her, Sirius and James.

Remus rounded onto the corridor with a mildly irritated expression on his face, he looked down into his book without a word. She had known about this, but she would never have expected Lupin to just ignore it. She had always respected him - and now was no different - but for a moment her respect for him dimmed a little. Hermione forced herself to take a step back - she had never met them before, supposedly.

What would this look like to an outsider? Snape had attacked them and they retaliated. She retaliated. There were no grounds for her to accuse them if being -

"We washed your hair for you Sniv, shouldn't you be thanking us?"

Vindictive, bullying gits. She settled for picking up her wand, putting a hand on Sirius's shoulder and quietly saying that they would be late for class. Remus nodded and began to steer her away from the scene as she heard more jinxes being fired. Irritation welled up and she felt herself becoming less and less enchanted with the idea of getting to know them, they didn't seem to be a patch on the two men she knew, and respected, and admired and the one man she had heard so much about.

"Who was that?"

"Serverus Snape, we don't get on very well with him," Remus said, eyeing her over the edge of his book before adding, "he's a Slytherin."

As though that excused them.

Sirius came bounding up behind the two of them to casually throw his arms over their necks and drag them into a sort of tangled group. He was grinning, looking far more fierce and familiar than he ever had before.

"I saw your wandwork, Granger, you're just full of surprises."

"I was disarmed," she pointed out, considering pulling herself from beneath his arm and hissing all the things she dearly wanted to say.

Behind them James and Wormtail hurried along with the latter practically panting over the former and complimenting his spell casting ability. He smelled good, she thought absently as she was half-dragged into a dark classroom and introduced to a tall, thin man who was so ancient that it appeared a strong gust of wind would knock him over - never mind Dark magic. Professor Fleetwing.

She was pointed to the only empty seat there was, despite numerous protests. It was beside Snape. She took her seat quietly, without a fuss, but trembled slightly when he turned to look at her with his lip curled up and an expression of anger. He was no where near as intimidating as the man she knew, but he still had a very forceful air about him. Hermione turned to the page they were told to go to without a word.

His eyes bored into the side of her head, as she focused on re-reading the chapter about Dementors. A hand, pale, slim and speckled with moisture slid into her peripheral vision.

"What do you think you're doing?!" she hissed.

His hand clasped around the locket dangling broken and forlorn at her neck (her precious lifeline) and lifted it up to get a better look at it. The only part of it not wrapped in cloth was the locket itself which didn't seem to burn him either.

She saw the sudden flash of interest - greed, fascination - and she nearly flinched when he lifted it up towards her with a strange, un-nerving expression. _He knew._

"Did you find what you were looking for, then?"

* * *

That's chapter Two out of the way with little, or nothing, said about Hermione's situation other than the fact that she can't get back. So, she's a "transfer student from Beauxbatons" and, yeah, she's met Luna Lovegood's parents. Who are awesome. Awesome, I say.

I've been on a bit of a HermioneRemus binge lately and I am so tempted to incorporate a bit of that in here - don't know if it shows or not. Lucius (Born 1954) is a bit older than the Mauraders (who were all born in 1960, and 1959) I think so he probably won't appear considering the fact that they are in their 6th year. As for Bella (Born 1951), and Andromeda (1953), I think they won't appear - much, if at all - either. Narcissa was born in 1955 so she is also too old to be at school with them.

Now that the scene has been set sufficiently I'll try and get much more character interaction (particularly between Sirius and Hermione, obv).

Thanks for reading.

Silver xxx.


	3. Of Deals and Disappearing

**Fragments of Fate.**

* * *

oOo

_In his best moments, Wormtail reminded her of Neville Longbottom at his worst._

oOo

"I said," he sneered, "did you find who you were looking for?"

"..."

"Beauxbatons witch, are you deaf, or just as idiotic as you look?"

"My _name _is Hermione."

"And, yes, I did see them."

"Your seeing them is a given when such an instrument is used correctly. I asked if you _found _them."

"It is," she snapped irritably, turning back to the chapter they were told to read, "the same thing."

"If it was the same thing... Then you wouldn't be sitting here telling me it was."

oOo

Violet looked at her blankly when she came into the Dorm Room; completely exhausted both physically and mentally. She ran her fingers through her sleek, dark hair in a practised, habitual move before sliding over to perch on the edge of Hermione's bed. Close up it became apparent that her hair was dyed - when the light caught it a certain way it shimmered a deep purple.

"I'd like to do your hair, Hermione," she said softly, smoothing down a tiny crease on the duvet.

"I'm fine, honestly. We have two rolls of parchment to write on on protective charms and -"

"It will not take long and it's been bothering me since we were introduced," she replied, a small crease showed between her heavy lidded eyes as she furrowed her brow and looked Hermione up and down.

She wasn't sure whether she should feel insulted or not, but at least Violet - unlike a certain blond Slytherin - possessed some tact. It seemed she wouldn't take no for an answer anyway because she slid up to kneel behind her on the bed and began running a charmed comb through her hair without waiting for an answer. Eve appeared shortly afterwards, shot a vague smile in her direction and began to sheaf through her '_Witch Weekly_' pile to find a charm for something or other.

It became impossible to concentrate on the essay before her with Violet tapping her long, perfectly filed nails against her comb and pulling away at her hair. Eve had appeared by her side as well shaking her cute, mousy bob and brandishing pages on "Taming the Untameable", and "Tips for Those with Banshee Hair".

This was one of those times when Hermione felt like screaming and running out to the Quidditch pitch to dive into some mud and throw a ball about (despite the fact that she couldn't throw or catch a ball to save her life, never mind on a broomstick). At least the inevitable, "Who do you fancy?", question hadn't been thrown at her yet. Eve started to curl her eyelashes, much to her distress, and nearly jabbed her in the eye when Hermione moved back.

Eyebrow plucking spell - it now looked like she was permanent state of shock. Foundation (to cover those "pesky" freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose), mascara, blusher, lipstick, eyeliner, eyeshadow, eyebrow pencil, concealer (the freckles wouldn't go down without a fight, much like her hair which had proceeded to snap two of Violet's combs), lip pencil, bronzer, highlighter...

She had the audacity to ask what the occasion was - Violet replied with a sort of say-that-again-and-I'll-move-on-to-body-waxing look before replying that this was just day to day make-up.

Needless to say Hermione escaped to the Boys' section of the Dorms the first chance she got. Violet and Eve may have been quieter than Lavender and the others, but they were twice as forceful. Lucy had not appeared throughout her make-over (torture session) and she had been told that she was out seeing some Hufflepuff who "wasn't good enough for her".

She banged on the door that she hoped belonged to Sirius, Remus and James after creeping up the Boys' stairs.

"Well...," a low whistle, "I knew you couldn't resist my charm, but really Hermione, you should wait until lights' out."

"I'm not here for you."

That was half true; the longing to see Harry, and even Ron, was overwhelming. Sirius grinned at her before reaching out and grasping her wrist to tug her inside. She hadn't remembered the Sirius of her time being so desperate for contact. This one seemed to use every opportunity to touch her - be it a light brush of arms, a hand on her shoulder or back or his arm around her neck. It was strangely -

"Moony, Hermione's here to _see _you."

The way that he said see implied anything but that.

"Stuff it, Padfoot. What's the matter? Are you stuck on the essay?"

Her pride stung a little at that remark, but she curbed the urge to correct him sharply. He was, after all, just trying to be friendly.

"No, I just needed to get out of my room. They're being..."

She trailed off at that to start pulling the curby grips from her hair which then vainly tried to reform into its original shape. Violet had attempted silky ringlets. Her hair had sort of curled more than it normally did, but it now stuck out at 90 degree angles so that it looked half-way between a poodle, and corkscrews growing out of her head. Attractive. The skin around her eyebrows felt strangely tight and the rest of her face felt heavy.

It was official - she hated make-overs. Remus gave her a sort of half smile and gestured for her to come and sit in the space beside him - amidst a sea of parchment. She scrolled down her own sheets and began scratching away with her quill. Sirius gave a quiet snort and muttered under his breath about - "urgh, study freaks". She knew he was intelligent, but _apparently _he was just one of those infuriating people that didn't need to work hard to do well.

Hermione would be lying if she said she had expected him to be the studying type.

"Your face looks a lot better today," she said quietly as she paused to dip her quill in the ink well.

The thick scabs had disappeared leaving the slightly shiny pink skin of almost healed scar tissue in their wake. He made a soft - _mhmm _- noise under his breath and shook his head a little until his sandy hair fell in front of his eyes. If she had been more... Knowledgeable in that particular area of life she might have noticed the red tinge that appeared on his slightly tanned cheeks.

Sirius saw. He shook his disheveled black hair back to its proper place in the manner that a soaked dog shook to remove unwanted moisture from its fur. The door opened a moment later to allow a invisibility cloak clad James and Wormtail to slip inside. They pulled the silvery, shimmering material over their heads and dumped the food that filled their arms onto the nearest bed.

Hermione gave a soft sniff and pressed her lips into a thin disapproving line.

"So _that's _your 'high level charm'. An invisibility cloak."

"Well," James began, rubbing the back of his head with one hand and exchanging gleeful looks with Sirius over the top of her head, "Yeah, I guess."

He threw her an apple and a small, sweet cake as though to pacify her - the air around her was practically shimmering with heat - and began to spread their haul out on the bed. Against her will a smile began to tug at the corner of her lips as they bickered over the sweets and threw insults the petulant five year olds not getting their own way.

It was pleasant if she forgot, or ignored - really, the time when she belonged. And all that happened to them between now and then.

oOo

"_Why_, are you sitting on me?"

"I'm not."

"Oh yes, well... What would you call this then?"

"I'm crouching over you so that I can see your answers, love."

"Go _crouch_ elsewhere before I hex you."

"Nearly done."

Bang.

"Now that wasn't fair at all. Hexing poor Pete and making his hair... Fall out."

"I'll be making something else fall _off _if you don't move."

"I love it when you talk dirty."

"**_What!!_**"

"Finished, much appreciated. Doll."

oOo

This wasn't the first time she had wished she could just move into the Boys' Dorm and stay there forever. Sprawled out in front of the - against the rules, conjured - fire she felt relaxed for the first time since she had arrived. Homework finished, boys half-asleep, full stomach, warm, lying on a mountain of pillows. It felt good. She rubbed her face against the soft navy of the pillow her head was propped up on and sighed.

It smelled good - like the cinnamon buns her Mum would bake on the coldest days of winter. The ones Hermione had burnt every time she attempted to bake; the culinary arts just weren't her forte.

"What was it like?"

The question brought her out of her reverie and she looked up - a mess of tousled curls and semi-smudged eyeliner - to the speaker, James. As far as she was aware they had been discussing the upcoming match of Slytherin versus Gryffindor.

"What was what like?" She answered, burrowing her face into the heavenly smelling pillow and watching him out of one brown eye.

"Beaux."

Her mind fumbled quickly for an answer, and she really hoped the jolt of panic she felt didn't show on her features.

"Prettier than here, I guess. Ice sculptures instead of suits of armour. Hideously revealing blue, and grey silk uniforms..."

She didn't know any more than that and they were staring. Scraping her brain for any information Fleur may have spewed the few times she spoke to the stunning, blond girl. Coming up empty-handed she chose to lie. Not lie, she told herself, make educated guesses.

"The customs of the school are a bit different - like the normal French education system. Longer lunches, Wednesday off, half day on Saturday... Always stand up when a teacher enters the room. It's not that different," she said, trailing off.

Sirius was staring at her, again. She looked at him pointedly.

"Sorry," he said, giving her a blinding, dazzling grin,"You lost me after revealing silk uniforms..."

She laughed then, actually laughed, and threw one of the red pillows in his almost too pretty face. Without the hardness of his jaw and the square set of his shoulders he would be too pretty, she decided. But right now, he wasn't half bad. Better when he grew up a bit and no softness was left in his features. She shook her hair out and ducked one of the pillows thrown at her, still laughing.

One hit her square in the face.

"You're dead, Black."

She hit the next pillow thrown with a multiply spell, but the pile of pillows conjured hit the other three boys more than anything else.

"Really," he sauntered forward, nimbly dodging another feather missile launched at his head,"because I feel very much alive."

He was too close suddenly. Overbearing, towering over her like some malevolent being. She was relatively small and felt quite threatened by his proximity and the way he hung his much larger - though not particularly broad - frame over her. Blocking escape. This was not the same as all those times he had forcibly thrown his arm around her neck in a bone crushing hug. His posture was domineering and she reacted badly to that because it reminded her far too much of the way the Death Eaters held themselves.

Arrogant, over-bearing.

Hermione made to take a step back; away from him and the charged atmosphere. All the laughter had slid from her face. Her hand instinctively to her wand and she had to restrain herself from hexing him. He seemed to notice that she had been startled and backed away, holding up the pillow he had been hiding behind his back in a placating gesture. There was a questioning look in his eyes that she just didn't want to deal with.

Muttering an excuse, she slipped from the room as quickly as she could. Still unthinkingly clutching the small navy pillow in one of her tight fists.

They stared after her for a moment, but when no bushy head appeared from behind the ajar door they shared a what's-her-problem? look. Remus went back to reading the large tome that had been knocked out of his hands during their 'war'. Peter sat beside him stuffing his face and vainly tried to complete the Transfiguration essay that should have been handed in several days previously. Sirius and James remained standing in the middle of the room - faces flushed and hands still clutching pillows as small feathers drifted to the floor around them.

"That was your pillow she took, wasn't it Pad?" James waggled his eyes brows suggestively.

"Shut it Prongs."

"_Ohhh_, you should have asked her to share," he pressed his lips into a pouty, kissy face and batted his eyelashes.

Peter laughed and Remus rolled his eyes as Sirius launched himself at James with a strangled yell.

oOo

She avoided him - them - after that. Two weeks passed easily. Going to breakfast early, leaving class as soon as the bell rang, spending breaks and most of lunches in the darkest corners of the library, only returning to the Common Room ridiculously late at night, or else remaining shut up in the Girls' Dorm. Hermione knew they were irritated by her sudden distant attitude and how she avoided them.

If they asked she would just say she was busy, which was true. She wouldn't give them a chance to ask.

Fumbling with one of the chains that kept the Forbidden books firmly in the Forbidden section, she let out a loud sigh. The soft scuffling of feet could be heard so she slid the book - _Tomorrow, Today and the Day Before Yesterday_- back into its place and groped in her pockets for the slip Dumbledore had given her, the one that granted access to any and all books in the library.

The virtual Holy Grail of any and all permission slips, in her opinion.

Ms Pince liked to check the slip every few hours - as though she expected it to suddenly disappear or change. Letting out a soft snort Hermione turned and came face to face, or rather face to _chest, _with someone who was definitely not the irritable librarian. Out of instinct she jumped back, and whipped out her wand only to have it yanked from her hand. A large, warm hand clamped across her mouth when she took a deep, lung filling breath.

"Jumpy, aren't you?" It could have been a teasing statement, but it sounded distinctly bitter.

She bit him. Perhaps not the smartest thing to do, but he removed his hand the moment he felt her teeth scraping off of his skin. He tastes, she noted, vaguely salty. All fear had evaporated the moment she realised who it was. The rich, spicy smell of his cologne coupled with the familiar voice took away the panic that edged into her mind.

"Only when people leap out at me from shadowed corners."

She ripped the book back from the shelf ignoring its shriek and the jarring sound the chain made because she pulled it so hard. Maybe she shouldn't have answered at all, maybe she should have just brushed past and disappeared amongst the towering shelves. It was too late for that. She turned back to the dog-eared pages and pointedly ignored the way he pawed through her book-bag looking from cover to cover.

There had been nothing to reward her desperate searching - even in the previously off-limits Forbidden Section, as one might expect. She had looked long and hard after she came into possession of it, but she had naively thought that perhaps the fact that her entire life - the one she had with her family and friends - depended on her finding answers might spur her on. Coming up empty handed wasn't something she was used to.

It just dangled there; battered and more broken than it had been when she first came into possession of it. The locket. The source of her problems. It almost made her sick when she thought about what she had done to get it, what boundaries she had crossed. And, him, standing there watching her with smouldering eyes. The anger rose unbidden because she could make this _his _fault if she put her mind to it.

If she acted petty and petulant and all manner of things she wasn't.

"Never took you for a witch who would find Divination interesting," his said, lip curling in a sneer worthy of her former Potions Professor.

Wait. Her former Potions Professor. He knew what it was, and he made it out to seem that he knew more than she did. Books were not giving her answers - or, rather, she could not find the books that would give her the answers she needed on her own. Snape wouldn't give her his help for free, but he was a Slytherin after all. She could deal with their slippery, self-serving ways if she got the information she needed.

She would be a bit Slytherin in that way. Self-serving, but the Gryffindor part of her would make sure she was honest and keep her side of the bargin. She just hoped that Snape would have the same warped sense of honour that the last Slytherin she made a deal with had.

"Never judge a book by its cover," she said quietly, aware that a significant pause had occurred in their so called conversation.

"Sounds like something Moony would say. Not that you would know."

The last comment was meant to rile her. To simultaneously make her feel like an unwelcome outsider while also showing just what he thought of her absences. It stung more than it should - she was supposed to be somewhat used to feeling like an outsider.

"You're right, I wouldn't."

His jaw tensed, she noticed that it was smooth. Free of those irritating patches of stubble. Some irrational, female, part of her wondered if he had done that for her. Sirius Black, womaniser extraordinaire. Hermione almost laughed at her own foolishness. He grabbed her wrist, engulfing it with his ridiculously large hand, and tearing her clutching fingers away from the ochre tinted pages.

There was something of a desperation in his eyes. Something of anger. She wanted to hex him until he was just a blubbering mass for daring to use his physical advantage against her, for daring to be angry and hurt at her avoidance, for daring to notice her in the first place. Making an impression was something she had wanted to avoid. She had failed miserably.

"Why are you running?!" his voice was angry and deep in the silence.

She refused to look at him, instead staring at the stone floor.

"I wasn't aware that my feet were moving."

"Bloody know-it-all! Stop avoiding us, stop avoiding _everything."_

"I'm not."

Hermione finally looked up at him, the picture of rage. His teeth were bared, the muscles in his jaw tight, eyes blazing anger. She remained cool, quiet and collected. Avoiding was one thing, but if she pushed him away it would make things so much simpler. No strings. She lifted her hand up to the one that rested on her wrist and slid her cool fingers across his heated knuckles.

At the first sign of limpness she prized his fingers off and swept past.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded, storming after her.

"One minute your nice, friendly, acting like you want nothing more than to move into the Boys' Dorm and always hang out with us. The next.."

He grabbed the sleeve of her robes as she made to disappear around the corner. She considered breaking into a sprint, but dismissed it. Pince would pounce on her if she dared hex him, and he was a good duelist to boot. The fact that he was bigger, stronger and had much longer legs meant that she couldn't outrun him. The heavy book-bag made things more difficult as well.

"The next you're acting like you've barely ever spoken to us, like you don't know us. Like you don't _want _to know us."

"I'm homesick," she said, looking at him directly and holding his gaze.

A bellow the belt move would seal this.

"I miss my _friends._ You know, the people I actually like..."

His jaw clenched even more and his hand curled into a fist at his side. For a moment she thought he might actually hit her. This was what she wanted, she told herself, as a pang of sadness hit her at his hurt expression - no strings. No attachments. No anything. His hand tightened to the point that she thought he might actually rip the material, but the moment passed and he released her.

Without a word he moved by, knocking her with his shoulder as he passed. She scowled at his retreating back and felt oddly irritated for someone who had just accomplished something she wanted to do.

"It's almost nice to see a girl that can pass up Black," a silky voice said, from somewhere behind her.

Steeling herself, Hermione turned around slowly instead of whipping around like she wanted to. There he was, all lank, greasy hair and long, gangly limbs, she forced a smile onto her face. He seemed vaguely repulsed by her attempts at being friendly. So, she wasn't the most socially adept person on the planet, but he could hardly judge her.

"Severus, I didn't see you there."

"And why would you? I'm surprised you can see at all with that bush you call hair in the way."

Hexing him seemed like a pleasant option right now. She forced the smile on her face to stay firmly in place.

"I was just going to look for you," he raised a dark eyebrow,"I need your help."

The words left a sour taste in her mouth. In the corner of her eye she noticed Sirius pause at the door of the library. His grey eyes were narrowed and he watched them unflinchingly. To say his gaze was murderous would be the understatement of the century. If eyes could Avada Kedavra... Snape seemed to be considering her words. She supposed she was lucky he didn't dismiss her outright.

"What do you want?"

It was her turn to look incredulous. He was almost being sincere.

"Information."

His dark eyes flickered to a place that would be highly inappropriate had she not known what he was looking at.

"I can guess what on."

Something like a smile tugged at the edge of her mouth she let it widen into a fully blown one. If what she had said hadn't already made him hate her, then this certainly would. As if on cue, his frown deepened.

"I'm sure you can," she replied smoothly.

"Then, I'm sure you're aware that I'll expect something in return."

"You're a Slytherin for a reason."

He smirked at that. She just hoped he would accept and didn't ask her to do anything _too _ridiculous as payment. You could never be sure what you were dealing with when you put yourself in debt of Severus Snape. Something like stealing a rare potion ingredient was what she expected. Perhaps giving him information on the Mauraders in return, or hexing them in their sleep.

She placed her hand lightly on his shoulder - a gesture, she admitted to herself, that was purely for Sirius's sake. He was still watching, and his wand looked as though it might snap in half if he placed any more pressure on it.

"Anything that's within my limits."

She didn't think he would respect any limits.

"I'll think about it," he answered finally as she let her hand slip from his shoulder.

"Thank you."

When she looked back Sirius had gone. The tiny amount of vindictive pleasure she had felt disappeared with him.

oOo

He kicked his bed as he passed, but that only intensified his feelings of anger when his toe gave a vicious throb. James polished his glasses on one of the shirts he had stolen from Lily and looked up at him expectantly. The others were watching. He still hadn't told them what had gotten him so riled up.

"She said she was_ homesick_ and that she had no bloody idea that she was avoiding us -"

"I'm sure the move this far on is stressful -"

"Then she said she missed the people she actually _liked_. As if she doesn't like us! We shouldn't have bothered being so bloody nice -"

"I'm sure there's a bit of culture shock involved, I mean -"

"And to cap it, you haven't even heard the best bit, she was getting all touch-y feel-y with Snivellus when I was leaving. Touching his arm, and smiling at him. Makes me sick to my fucking stomach."

James sat bolt upright in the bed he had previously been lounging all over. His expression was incredulous. Remus just kept babbling on about how things must have been difficult for her, and how hard it would be to adjust. The faint flush on his cheeks as he spoke of Hermione sent another jolt of what must have been jealousy right into the pit of his stomach. He looked at James who's hazel eyes were screwed up in a familiar, let's-plan-mayhem expression.

"What girl could stomach looking at Sniv, never mind touching him?!" James half-yelled, an expression of disgust on his features. They all knew he was thinking of Lily as he said that.

"Yeah, obviously _Hermione_ can."

"I'm sure she didn't mean anything by it, Padfoot, just let her sort out her thoughts and she'll go back to normal," muttered Remus, ever the voice of reason.

"Are you angry, Moony? Angry that I insulted your precious little girlfriend?!"

Remus's face flushed a deep crimson, forcing more bitter resentment into Sirius's system. He didn't even try to deny it, only turned back to his book. James gave a deep yawn, blissfully unaware of the irritated looks flashing between the two.

"Let's hit the sack. We'll just hex Snivellus more than normal tomorrow and see if what Moony says is true."

"I'll do more than bloody hex him," Sirius muttered darkly, as the lights turned off.

* * *

Blah. Blah. Blah.

Sorry about the wait, I've been really busy lately. What with exams and whatnot. I feel that I should add more to the chapter, but I'm tired and can't think of anything other than heading into the Snape-Deal phase which should take more than a few hundred words. So, more jealousy to come, more about this weird locket thing and probably that Slytherin versus Gryffindor match I mentioned earlier. (Great place to snuggle up, methinks. What with everyone looking up to the sky...)

Thanks for reading.

Silver xxx.


	4. Of Vials and Vendettas

Fragments of Fate.

* * *

oOo

_Severus Snape could always make her feel inadequate with a mere glance - past, or present._

oOo

"Do you want this or not, Granger?" he sneered, holding the locket into the faint light for a moment before sliding it back into his pocket.

She bit her lip as she considered his expression - it was still very likely that he would have found some way to weasel out of their agreement. The sound of faint footfalls made her jump slightly and cram herself closer to the exposed stone wall, even though she knew that passers-by could not see them concealed behind the tapestry. It was long after nightfall and if they were found it would be by a member of staff, or perhaps a fellow prefect.

The rumours that would spring up if _Malfoy_ and herself, of all people, were found in a dark corner way after nightfall would be unbearable. Never mind Harry and Ron's reactions. She didn't want to have to think up a cover story for this.

"Let me see it," she said, holding out her hand expectantly

He eyed her critically, suspicously, for a moment before lowering the tiny locket into her open palm. Malfoy still kept a tight grasp on the chain as she flicked open the catch as stared into the milky depths of the inner sections of the locket. Hermione fought hard to conceal her excitement, her happiness.

"No one knows...?" she trailed off with a questioning tone.

"No one, and I expect that you did the same for me. The last thing I need is Potty and the Weasel pocking their noses into my business," Malfoy snapped, impatiently pulling the locket from her grasping fingers.

She kept her eyes on him - not relinquishing her grip on her wand which she had kept firmly in her hand since they met. Hermione retracted her hand from her pocket and held out a roll of parchment and a tiny, red leather bound book with runes inscribed in peeling gold leaf across the front.

"A perfect translation of the second and fifth chapters, as you asked for."

The runes formed chains used for repairing and connecting - she had no idea what he was trying to fix and didn't want to know. He, in turn, had not asked why she wanted the Fate locket. From the brief conversations they had had she gathered that he had retrieved it from one of his families' oldest vaults, which had lain untouched for almost two centuries - the contents near forgotten. No one would notice its absence.

Some emotion she couldn't quite identify flickered across his face as he took the parchment, book and handed her the locket. It still felt warm from being held in his hand for so long. Malfoy swept past her then, and slid out into the, now deserted corridor without saying anything further.

"You know it's customary to shake hands after a deal has been completed," she said to his retreating back and swishing, green trimmed robed.

He let out a short, bitter sounding laugh and didn't even look back.

---

"Have you decided yet?" Hermione asked, watching the back of Sirius's head closely.

Snape exhaled slowly and looked at her with a slightly bored expression. Holding his gaze proved to be difficult, she watched Sirius's back stiffen and straighten. He had many benefits as an animagus - she had overheard him talking to Harry about it once - and a heightened sense of hearing was one of them. She didn't want him to hear this - her voice dropped to a whisper.

"Well, have you?" her prompt came out sharper and more irritable than she meant.

He would probably drag it out longer because of that. Snape looked away from her again, slouching further into his seat, his legs stuck out beneath the desk. His long, pale fingers with slightly too long nails drummed against the wooden desk. She longed to hex him into speaking, but he couldn't be rushed. She knew that. Part of her felt like pointing out the fact that stubbornness was a Gryffindor trait, but then she might never get an answer.

"His teeth are too sharp, don't you think? A little inhuman, almost _wolfish_."

She had no idea what he was talking about until she followed the line of his gaze. Remus was smiling, the aforementioned teeth white even in the gloomy classroom. Snape was watching her then, scrutinising her expression. What she felt was a blank look was probably an open book to him. A slight twinge of anger hit her then; at what he was trying to do. Forcing a smile on her face - for the third time since the class started ten minutes earlier - she pulled the chain of her locket meaningfully.

His eyelids lowered slightly as he flashed her a look of open contempt mingled with a sort of pride. Internally, he was probably mocking her "ignorance".

"I have decided,"he said, finally.

Ever talkative. That hadn't changed.

"_And_..."

"Keep your voice down," he chastised, with a hint of a smirk, "you don't want Black to hear, do you?"

She felt like tearing all of her hair out and strangling him with it. The teacher had finally made an appearance and, as the level of noise dropped in the class, he lent across slightly. Lips barely moving as he spoke. The words were quick which betrayed his excitement. He would never have turned her down.

"I'll help you, and you will help me."

His hand slid into his pocket and he pulled out a tiny vial of clear, blue liquid with a piece of parchment wrapped around it.. Hermione watched as he extended his hand and held the tiny bottle beneath the table, so that she alone could see. With some reluctance she extended her hand and allowed him to place it in the centre of her palm. It was cool and smooth. She slid it into one of the inner pockets of her bag without a word.

"Tomorrow morning, early, you will go and place a drop of that on each of the Maurader's. As long as it touches skin it does not matter where."

"It's not poison..." she trailed off, reaching for a quill to copy down the notes.

"Unfortunately not. Do not tempt me."

"So what does it -"

"You'll find out tomorrow," he hissed, cutting her off.

He refused to speak after that. And it was official; this search for Sirius Black had thoroughly destroyed her morals. She tried not to think about it as a wall of text appeared on the blackboard and the "cause" of all of her misfortunes sent her a look of pure loathing. Class was over quickly - she took her time packing up all of her things to make sure that she wouldn't have to speak to any of the Mauraders.

The thick leather strap of the messenger bag - one of the many supplies Dumbledore had "lent" to her - showed the typical signs of strain. She really hoped this one held up, unlike the many bags she had carried through the years. Hefting it onto her shoulders she maneuvered her way through the pushing masses towards the door. This would have been as good a time as any to start research with Snape, but he had actually wanted to go to this.

She supposed it was because his House was playing. Though she didn't feel obliged, she would attend too. Another hour searching listlessly for information she was sure that she now only imagined existed may have been enough to tear what was left of her sanity away. Or, at the very least a break would perhaps allow her to function better when she did return to the library.

A group of rowdy Hufflepuff boys jostled her into a seat somewhere in the middle of the third stand. The view was good and it was light and breezy. A few whisps of hair escaped the loose bun she had tied at the base of her neck. A half concealed snort of irritation from her right hand side caused her to turn her head a little. Behind her sat Sirius, Remus and a straggly haired Wormtail. Before she could turn back Sirius spoke.

"Fancy meeting you here," he bared his straight, white teeth in an almost predatory smile.

Remus looked as though he wasn't sure what to do. When she looked at him he looked away.

"Yes... Good to... See you, Henrietta," Wormtail muttered, wringing his hands and blushing fiercely.

"Hermione," she snapped, turning back to the pitch where the teams were walking on to a storm of shouting.

"Nobody came with you? No _Snivellus_."

"Why would it matter to you?"

"It doesn't," he sneered, flicking his hair back.

"Then stop talking to me."

"Why don't you."

"You're so immature," she hissed, turning back around to feign interest in the beginning of the match.

Hermione could hear him muttering quietly behind her. The words were unclear but the malevolent tone behind them made it difficult to relax. She sat rigid, hoping to catch a glimpse of them out of the corner of her eyes so that she could see if they decided to act against her. Sirius could be all charm and friendliness if he wanted to be, but also cruel and vindictive. Now that she had lead him to believe that she was friendly with Snape she doubted he would show her any kindness.

Feeling insecure, she stood and began to weave her way down the stands. There really was no point in staying there, cheers swelled up around her as Gryffindor scored, not when she couldn't stop the niggling feeling that he was going to hex her while her back was turned. Perhaps it was guilt at what she had agreed to do to him - to them. A quick glance confirmed that they were all still in their seats.

Unbidden, her feet began to take her in the direction of Hagrid's cabin. She stopped as soon as she realised this and stared at the small, wooden hut with mounting frustration. Hot angry tears pricked at the corners of her eyes before she could force them back. Little fool. He did not know her now. She stared at the roughly carved wooden logs that made up the exterior before turning on her heel and walking away

The bag strap dug into her shoulder with each step she took away from the castle. She had been in the Forbidden Forest very few times in her life, but felt little fear when venturing into the edges of it as she occasionally did to avoid Ron and Harry completely. Around ten metres down the path the Mauraders' Map no longer showed people on it and she could sit in relative peace for a time - at least until she lost her nerve and left.

It was usually a last resort.

The forest always seemed unchanging, eternally dark and foreboding, if she sat still and closed her eyes it would almost seem like she wasn't stranded in the wrong time and potentially destroying all she heard dear. A frown creased the skin beneath her brows as she thought of that. The shadows seemed to swallow her whole as she stepped beneath the cover of the trees and began to pick her way over the protruding tree roots and rocks.

Something on the ground made her pause and draw out her wand: a pawprint in the mud before her, just the right size for a large sized dog.

Hermione let out a soft sigh and glanced back just as a wave of cheering floated over from the stands. There was a tree stump just to her left that she didn't remember being there. There was really no point in going any further now - with Sirius knowing where she was the entire purpose of going further in search of some peace and quiet was void. Arranging her cloak to lessen the chance of wrinkles she eased her bag to the ground and sat with a sigh.

Perhaps he wouldn't appear.

"You shouldn't be out here. It's the Forbidden Forest, you know, and I would have thought you'd be smart enough to know it was dangerous just from the name."

She should have known better. Hermione couldn't see him, but his voice came from the shadows just in front of her. He seemed to be waiting for her to speak. Perhaps he was expecting her to be startled; a wry smirk tugged at the corners of her mouth. He would have to do better than that to have her run screaming, or show fear. She had experienced war first hand - Sirius jumping out of the shadows when she expected him was no comparison.

"I wasn't going to go far," she said, tone impersonal and aloof.

A shifting and cracking of leaves before he moved into her line of version. His teeth were bared and the dim light made his eyes seem as sunken as they had been the night she met him. For the first time in years Hermione Granger felt more the a twinge of fear when she looked at Sirius Black despite her attempts not to show it.

"There are things out here that could _hurt you_." Strange; his expression. It was almost like he cared. Guilt twisted her heart in a vice-like grip at that thought.

"Like you...?

Why did he make her feel the need to goad him? She would taunt noone else like this.

"You know that's not what I meant, Hermione."

He rolled his tongue around her name in a way that sent a jolt to the pit of her stomach that she didn't want to investigate. Instead of being angry, as she had expected, he was calm - almost, there was a tenseness in his voice and stance - and quiet. Deadly quiet.

She moved to her feet; aware that staying any longer would invite a conversation that she didn't want to have. He was far too stubborn - like he had already decided that she would be part of his life whether she wanted to or not. That was the Pureblood part of him; domineering and arrogant. He moved far, far too fast and grabbed her arm to stop her leaving and his grip was bruising though she thought he didn't mean it to be.

Grabbing her bag strap with one hand she moved to jab him in the stomach with her wand and fix him with a threatening glare. That would show him that she wasn't one of the many subservient females he was so used to handling.

Her bag split open then; spilling textbooks and sheafs of paper everywhere, but it truly felt like her heart had stopped when the tiny blue vial and the note attached to it rolled to a stop at Sirius's feet. She froze on the spot, heart fluttering like a caged bird, as he noted where her stricken expression was aimed and picked it up. A cold coil of icy fear snaked through her veins as his lips mouthed the words on the parchment.

He repeated the name scrawled at the bottom several time - his long, dark hair and the dim light hiding everything but his mouth and chin. It struck her then that it was strange for Snape to openly show the connection between him and what he had told her to do. He was still young though; very, very young. It struck her that his practised ease in secrecy and covering his tracks probably came from some very unpleasant experiences.

She had seen the scars that littered his arms and hoped, feverishly, that this incident wasn't one of those unpleasant experiences.

"He _forced_ you, didn't he?!"

His grip was now too painful for her to focus on anything else properly. He swatted away the hand holding her wand as though it was an insignificant fly.

"Let go. You're hurting me!"

Sirius's eyes widened slightly as though he hadn't realised that before she pressed her only free hand against his chest and pushed with all her might just as he let her go as though he had been burned. Hermione stumbled backwards until her back hit a tree trunk. He made no move to approach her further. She fingered the forearm that was sure to have a bruise from his strong grip and noted the way he followed the movement of her hand.

She frowned and gripped her wand a little tighter - lifting it until it was pointed directly at his face.

"You don't need to be frightened," he said, finally.

Dammit! He must have seen her traitorous hand shaking though she tried to stop the movement.

"I'm not."

The look on his face was dark and almost vicious - his jaw set in a rigid line and his eyes glittering unpleasantly. Her mind's eye drew up the old wanted poster and coldly pointed out the exact same look - promise - in his dark eyes. She crushed the urge to cry and looked away.

"I'll get him for this."

It was as though her spirit had separated from her body and she watched herself as she stood mute and pliant in his grip.

"I swear..."

The words hung in the air like a knife as he charged away from her with his powerful legs forcing him to speeds she would never be able ; perhaps unaware of her turmoil. Hermione had no idea why he had suddenly left her, when he normally clung as though he had sunk claws into her skin. Revenge perhaps. It always seemed to take centre stage for him. Perhaps he thought "saving" her by ridding her of her "tormentor" was the best thing he could do.

Hermione knew he had seen the wetness in her eyes that signalled tears forming, waiting to be spilled. She saw the uncertainty, worry, that spilled through the mask of anger and watched as his features hardened a second later. He couldn't deal with her like that. He sought to deal with the source of the supposed problem instead. She felt sick to her stomach.

Flicking her brown eyes back to the castle she frowned down at the books as she repaired her bag and stuffed them back inside. She could catch up. Her eyes never left the Castle. She was strong, she was smart, she was capable...

She could fix this.

---

On the Forest floor, blown by the wind into a bush, was a small sheet of plain white paper. It was unremarkable - save for the small, blue, still damp, blotch on it.

---

* * *

This is a bit short, but I'm tired and I want to update. Really tired. Urgh, enjoy what little of this ( and the smidgens of plot) there are here to enjoy.


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